


Absolution

by JohnJoestar



Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25943698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnJoestar/pseuds/JohnJoestar
Summary: A glimpse into Doomguy's mind at the end of Doom 64, and why he made that fateful decision to stay in Hell.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	Absolution

With an ear-piercing shriek, the Mother Demon collapsed onto the stone floor amidst the steaming carcasses of her wretched “children”. Yet she – no, _it_ – twitched and moaned in agony as it clung onto what wretched existence passed for its life. Its red eyes widened in horror as a green figure strode up. A green figure that moments before had been engaged in a titanic battle with the Mother Demon.

_Click-clack!_

Without hesitation, the Doomguy shoved the Super Shotgun’s twin barrels into the Mother Demon’s mouth and pulled the trigger. With a thunderous **_BOOM_** , the elder demon’s entire head erupted in a shower of blood, bone, and brain matter. Then there was silence.

But not for long.

An otherworldly whoosh interrupted the brief respite, accompanied by the all-too familiar sight of a portal opening up. With his head dizzy and eyes blurry, the Doomguy tried to peer into the portal to no avail.

_Am I…crying?_

He took off his helmet and wiped his eyes. Even with Hell’s eternal red glow, he could tell that it was blood and not tears that were flowing from his eyes. The portal’s destination was clear now: the derelict UAC facilities on Phobos. He glanced at the emergency beacon strapped to his belt. All he had to do was go through the portal, find some open space, and activate it. The device’s signal would pierce through the radiation field, and he’d be on his way home.

_Heh… “home”._

He remembered the faces of every Marine under his command. Their youthful faces had gawked at him in amazement and admiration, speaking in tones both loud and hushed about what an honor it had been to fight under humanity’s savior. They had trusted him to lead them to Hell and back, and the Doomguy had returned that trust by drawing upon every ounce of insight and experience he had into training them for this operation.

Yet he still failed every single one of them. Just like his first time on Phobos, just like Io. None of them had lasted past the first hour of the assault. Their hopes and dreams never to be realized.

_At least they still had hopes and dreams._

The Doomguy stared through the portal, at what awaited him on the other side. There would for sure be a board of inquiry and an after-action review, and he’d be absolved of any wrongdoing both because of his reputation and the fact they had faced off against the might of fucking Hell itself. Then would come the funerals, a second star-shaped medal dangling from his neck via a blue ribbon, and yet another goddamn ticker-tape parade where he’d be carted around like some fucking exotic animal while the public hooted and hollered with joy that he no longer had. And then…and then…?

_Shoved back into IRR status, forgotten until I’m needed again._

He’d be back on pension, eking out an existence with that lonely desk job the government had given him out of pity. There would be more counseling sessions, with useless psychologists who can’t possibly understand the literal Hell he had went through as well as chaplains who only half-heartedly served their impotent gods. Gods that had allowed Hell on Earth to happen under their watch. His body would continue to wither away, especially with all the radiation he had soaked up over the course of this mission, and his mind would continue to erode and plagued by nightmares for the rest of his days.

It would be a lonely existence too. The Doomguy had tried to find love again after the war for Earth, and there had been no shortage of women who wanted to bed him thanks to his reputation. Yet he could never progress past one-night stands. Not with his night terrors, not with him constantly measuring his trysts up against what Hell had taken from him, and _definitely_ not with him constantly craving combat so much that he’d start barfights just to feel alive again.

All in all, he’d be going back to a life that was no better than those of the countless zombies he had put down. At least their pain had ended.

The Doomguy glanced between the portal and the Mother Demon’s corpse. Along with that blast from the super shotgun, he had felt a faint spark. It was a shadow of the rush he used to feel when he had ripped and tore Hellspawn left and right in his previous battles. Sometime between his first rodeo with the Icon of Sin and his rampage through the Plutonia facilities, that rush had faded and was replaced with the sheer fatigue and resignation he now felt.

Yet it did not go away entirely.

He _could_ go back to life on Earth, let his body and mind rot away until he’d either take his final breath in some lonely hospital bed or let the demons tear him apart limb-to-limb with ease in their next inevitable invasion. On the other hand, he could stay in Hell and chase after that rush only combat can bring, eventually going out in a blaze of glory knee-deep in demon dead.

It was an easy decision to make.

The Doomguy yanked the emergency beacon off his belt and crushed it under his boot. Then he tore the dogtags from his neck and tossed it through the portal. They had already been smeared by blood (from both demons as well as himself), so whatever search party they’d send in wouldn’t have to think too hard about what happened to him.

After flipping off the portal, the Doomguy turned on his heel and strode away, Super Shotgun reloaded and ready for more blood. For the first time in years, he smiled.

There was work to be done.


End file.
